


You Are My Sun in the Darkness of the Night

by writing_addiction



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_addiction/pseuds/writing_addiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor seems to forget how frustrating and sometimes awkward explaining certain aspects of the TARDIS to a new companion can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are My Sun in the Darkness of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> It's probably blatantly obvious from the story itself, but I kind of ship Doctor/TARDIS a whole lot, and it never fails to slip into my writing. I am also in love with the concept that the TARDIS is a living thing and not just a machine. And seeing as I am in love with what I have seen of Clara so far, why not just throw all of my favorite things into one (possibly confusing) fic? I researched as much as I could on the things in the fic, but seeing as there's not really much info there to begin with and this was self-beta'd, I claim full responsibility if I have made any grievous errors from canon. Please point them out to me if I have. The title comes from the song "Whispers" by Unsun.

His companions always seem to think it's odd when he mentions the TARDIS being a living thing.  He's honestly never given it much thought one way or the other, always rather takes it for granted.  It must be the temporo-spatial differences in their education; the vast majority of humans firmly believe they are alone in the universe, and only a small portion of them recognizes the intrinsic value of life in species other than Homo sapiens.  Time Lords are taught to value all life, no matter how insignificant, strange, or horrifying that life may seem, because the universe would literally be a different place without it. 

Truth be told, though, it always brings a little smile to his face when his companions are faced with evidence that the TARDIS really is alive and he's not just some lunatic imbuing emotions onto a machine.  Well, yes, sometimes he is nothing more than a lunatic imbuing emotions onto a machine, but the TARDIS really isn't a machine anyway.  The word "machine" implies something that's cold and efficient, purpose-built to perform a certain function, a metal thing with no soul.  The TARDIS is quite the opposite.  She's isn't cold, though sometimes when she puts her mind to it, she can be remarkably efficient.  She's purpose-built in a way, he supposes, but the TARDIS is absolutely not some metal thing without a soul.  His girl most definitely has a soul, and that's what he appreciates more about her.  She is alive and warm and caring, and she too is the only one of her kind left in the universe, the only reminder that the cosmos has of the mechanical miracles of Gallifrey.  He's always felt overwhelmingly at home when travelling in the TARDIS, and now that his home-planet is gone, she is the only thing he has.  It frightens him sometimes how much he relies on her, to know that without her to keep him safe, the last child of Gallifrey would wither and be forgotten, lost forever to the ghosts of time and space.

"You know, Doctor, if this ship of yours needs to be repaired constantly, why do you keep travelling in it?  Aren't you scared it's going to kick the bucket while we're the time vortex, or something?  Why not just trade it in on a newer model?"

He looks up from the wires he's trying desperately to solder together--which isn't working to well, he really does need to fix the welding function on the sonic like he's been meaning to do for ages now--and stares blankly at Clara.  "Do not, under any circumstances, insult my ship."  He lays his hand against the nearest wall.  "She's just...aging is a bit, is all, but she's still seaworthy."

"Aging?"  Clara taps her chin, and her smile turns teasing.  "Like her owner, I suppose."

"Oy, stop that!"  The Doctor tries going back to his work, but the sonic screwdriver seems to have decided that it will only function when being held at a ridiculous angle.  He supposes the tea-making station doesn't really need to have a telepathic connection.  At least, not for the moment.  He's been hitting the start button manually for years now.  No reason why it can't wait another day or so.  He stands and looks at Clara again.  "You know, I'm really not all that old by Time Lord standards."

She scoffs softly.  "What, you expect me to believe that?  I should think 1,200 is quite old by anyone's standards."

"Gallifreyans can theoretically live for eternity if they're careful enough, Clara, though I don't believe anyone's ever actually made it past 20,000 mark."

"...are you trying to tell me that, comparatively speaking, you really are just a gigantic five-year-old?"

He can't help but grin back at her.  "Age is just a number, Clara."

She laughs.  He likes Clara's laugh.  The TARDIS likes it too, judging by the way she glows just a bit more when she hears it.  The old girl has a rather more, well, functional design now, and it's good to see that she's not averse to warming up to yet another new companion.  It's certainly taking her long enough with Clara; the old girl had locked her out of the library the other day, and it had taken him ages to find the right key.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she was deliberately hiding it from him.

"Does the TARDIS always do this, Doctor?"

His eyebrows come together in confusion.  "Do what?"

Clara opens her mouth to respond, closes it with a hesitant glance at him, and then decides to speak.  "I know it must seem vain of me, but...I feel like the lights get brighter when I laugh."

His grin returns.  He can't help but tease her now.  "Is this your way of telling me it's too dark in here for your liking?"

"No, no," she says quickly, shaking her head.  He doesn't think she noticed his expression, because she's still being quite serious.  "No, I meant just what I said: I feel like the lights get brighter when I laugh."  He can see her trying to put her thoughts together into some semblance or order, and it's getting harder by the moment not to burst out laughing.  That would be overly cruel, though.  He knows how the TARDIS operates--well, for the most part, anyway, but that’s his own fault for not paying better attention in school--and Clara doesn't.  He hears the old girl thrum more loudly for a moment, and he knows she knows when she's being discussed. 

Turning his attention back to Clara, he decides to stop teasing her.  "No, you're absolutely right.  Well, in a way.  If I were to bring a photometer onboard and take an accurate measurement, it would tell you that the candlepower of the lights in this room stay constant.  So no, there could be no way that what you're experiencing is scientifically possible.  But the TARDIS is a living thing, and she has telepathic circuits that get into your head and do all kinds of things.  One of which--"

"Wait, wait, wait."  Clara takes hold of his shoulders as if she's trying to physically stop him from moving, even though they're both standing still.  "Your time machine...gets into my head?  What's that even mean?  How does a machine have telepathic abilities?"

He sighs.  "Alright, I know you humans don't believe in telepaths or telekinesis or anything of the sort, but all sentient beings in universe have a sort of inane psychic capacity.  And before you dismiss it as balderdash, I don't mean 'psychic' as in old ladies who you pay to divine your specific future out of tea leaves or sawdust or whatever nonsense.  There is, however, a telepathic field that exists throughout the universe, and different species have a higher or lower sensitivity to it.  Does that make sense?"

"Uh...."

"Oh good, coming along nicely.  Okay then, onto the next bit!"  He claps his hands and grabs a notebook and pencil from a nearby cabinet.  "You are a recognized passenger on the TARDIS," he draws a stick figure on the page in front of them, "and the TARDIS's telepathic circuitry," he draws a little square that's supposed to resemble a computer chip, but he knows it's rubbish, "emits a sort of...well, think of it as a kind of ultrasonic frequency that helps to open up the vestigal psychic pathways in your mind." He draws a squiggly line all around the Clara-stick figure.  "The old girl accesses that pathway and communicates with your brain, much like a computer connecting to the Internet via wifi."

"Probably not the best idea to mention wifi right now.  Still a bit freaked out by that whole ordeal."

"That's how the TARDIS knows which languages to translate to and from everywhere we go; it's kind of like how Google uses GPS satellites and other technology to know where your unique 'current location' is."  He frowns.  "Except not really, because Google isn't dimensionally transcendental.  Never will be, for that matter, if they don't get their act together."

"Yeah, you have officially lost me."

"Long story short," he lies, waving his hand back and forth dismissively, "the TARDIS knows in a clinical sort of way when you're happy, which makes her happy, which shifts your perception of your surroundings the tiniest, most microscopic amount, and your puny, underdeveloped human brain doesn't know how to process that information, so instead, it--"

"It makes the lights look brighter?"  Clara looks frighteningly skeptical at first, but he gives the information a bit of time to soak in.  Within the span of a few moments, she seems to grudgingly accept his explanation.  "Alright, I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense, but why isn't it true in reverse?  Why do the lights not look dimmer when I'm sad?"

"Blimey, do you humans really think every aspect of the universe revolves around your emotional fluctuations?"

Clara scoffs.  She doesn't fire anything back at him, though, and he's more than a little grateful for that.  To be honest, it takes a lot of effort to try to sound cleverer than his companions sometimes, and Clara definitely gives him a run for his money.  She takes a few steps away from him, slowly making her way around the console, looking out into the air.  Trying to process information, most likely.  Humans work with rather dated software, and as sharp as they can be at times, that amount of computing still takes time. 

When she makes it back to him, she's pointing a finger at him and her mouth is hanging open a bit.  "You call the TARDIS a she."

He nods.  "I do, yes."

"Why?"

"Because I respect her."

"Okay, what does _that_ mean?"

"Well, why do _you_ call yourself a female?"

"Because I am."

"Yes, but how do you know you are?"

"Besides the obvious?"

It takes all his self-control to stop his eyes from rolling.  "No, what I meant was: what if you had no physical body?  There are species out there that are gaseous, that are made from pure energy or thought and don't posses a physical body.  These species still posses the concept of having gender without possessing the concept of having a specific sex.  So again, how do you know you're female?"

She looks away as she thinks.  He idly wonders which model processor she has and if it perhaps is in need of updating.  "I don't...I just _know_."

"Exactly."  When she narrows her eyes at him slightly, he points to the matrix housing at the centre of the TARDIS console.  "The TARDIS is a living thing, Clara.  Inside what appears to be just another bit of metal here on the console is the matrix, the living soul of a TARDIS."  He shrugs.  "She can't specifically _tell_ anyone, but the first time you heard me call the TARDIS 'old girl' or something, it felt natural to you, didn't it?  As if there was no reason why I should have said anything differently?"  He nods upwards into the air.  "The matrix itself is the source of the TARDIS's telepathic abilities, after all, and if she is going to allow the two of us inside her home, she's at least going to introduce herself properly."

Clara nods slowly.  "Meaning she....what?  She plants information into our brains?  That's not creepy at all, Doctor."

"Not 'plants,' exactly, but yes, you've got the right idea."  He reaches up and strokes the matrix casing.  "The gist of it is that, if the TARDIS _isn't_ female, then I have an extremely embarrassing and extensive apology to make." 

Clara giggles softly.  The Doctor sees her shaking her head a bit out of the corner of his eye.  He decides to ignore it.  "You must really love her."

He can feel his smile turn soft and sentimental.  "I do, indeed."

Clara laughs again, says something about "blokes and their cars," and even though he knows better, he wonders if his old girl ever really _does_ make the lights go bright when her thief and his friends are happy.


End file.
